The McGowan Boys: Boils on the Butt of Humanity
by mellowenglishgal
Summary: The McGowans' oldest friend returns to town to live with her dad - and his new family. Dealing with a spoiled stepsister, a ghost stepbrother and their awesome 8-yr-old sister, Ruby tries to help Sean get back in the saddle. And not the one on his Harley. Ruby was around when Sean first became 'Ghost Brother'. Dating sites, pranks, punishments, a capella and groping ensue.


**A.N.**: So…I haven't updated in this genre for ages. _Megan Meade_, I mean. And I know I keep starting things and then either taking them off, or just abandoning them… So I was watching _Pitch Perfect_ the other day, and I thought, Hm, the girl who plays Stacy is the _perfect_ girl to portray Ruby. Very pretty, dark hair, _boobs_. And I've been sucked into the Hemsworth cult vortex, so I thought, Hm. Liam Hemsworth = Sean McGowan. More during his _Hunger Games_/_Empire State_ timeline when he's a little darker. Combine his hairstyle from _Empire State_ with the darker colouring, skinnier and devastated Gale Hawthorne, this is the Sean McG I'm envisioning for my story.

There has to be a reason Sean spends all his time in the garage, is referenced as 'Ghost Brother' by Doug and disappointed Regina about being one of the 'smart ones' who spends all his time on his bike. So, if you'd like to read where I got my inspiration for him from, read the novel _Collision Course_. It's a more mature teen/YA novel that really gets you thinking. Grab the tissues, I'm warning you now! Also, I just finished _A Midsummer Nightmare_ by Kody Keplinger. Whitley the main character handles everything about her new stepfamily pretty much the total opposite way I'm going to portray Ruby!

* * *

**The McGowan Boys: Boils on the Butt of Humanity**

_01_

_Contemplating the Long-Term Beneficial Ramifications of Homicide_

* * *

If she committed multiple-homicide, she figured any jury comprised of her peers who had gone through divorces – either as children, or been left out in the cold when their partners trotted off with tight younger models – might show her some compassion. Maybe she _wouldn't_ get solitary. She'd be housed, fed three meals per day, given time for daily exercise, could hone her poker skills, indulge in experimenting with her sexuality, and earn a university degree. The bonuses she could think up, backing her decision to commit murder, outweighed the decision _not_ to give in to the white-hot rage and soul-crushing hurt and pull back.

She actually liked the eight-year-old who was set to apparently become her stepsister in September. She was this tiny thing with thick, shining hair the colour of wheat in sunshine, cut in a bob, shorter in back, with a deep side-part and able to tuck her bangs behind her ear. Ruby had been instantly struck by how sleek, athletic and sophisticated the haircut was, which seemed to suit her down to the marrow. She liked soccer, Dickensand _loved_ blues; Peeta Mellark was her idol. Once again proving that Peeta the Baker's Son was bringing sexy back with his hot buns and selflessness.

And though she was little, Ruby thought she might be nursing a cracked rib after the little boa-constrictor had given her a hug. Teeny-girl Collis was strong.

Ruby didn't know how Collis could stand being the only one in her family with flavour: she had more personality stuffed into her tiny stature than her two elder, teenaged siblings combined.

She was reserving judgement on her soon-to-be-stepmother.

But the daughter at least had looked at Ruby like she was something stuck on the bottom of her tan suede Hollister flip-flops. And not gum, either. She'd had a tiny ass, and had been wearing a V-neck polo vest with tiny pink details, and a white tennis-skirt with sharp pleats, had apparently just come from the country-club where she'd been playing doubles with her mother.

Neither of them looked the least bit ruffled. Not from playing tennis for three hours; or the fact that they'd done so in hundred-degree weather and disgusting humidity that had hit Ruby like a freight-train when she'd stepped out of the airplane. It wasn't that she wasn't used to humidity – the plane had just been air-conditioned. And coming from South Africa, an entire _day's_ journey just sitting in the plane, she hadn't exactly been at her best when her estranged dad had presented her to his new family.

On the doorstep of the home Ruby had grown up in.

Ruby's dad, whom she could honestly say she hadn't spent more than an hour with since she was twelve, and his new fiancée had discovered _her_ childhood home was on the market and snapped it up for half its worth because the owners were desperate to get rid of it. So the sunny blonde tennis-playing widow had moved her 2.5 perfect children into the house _Ruby_ had grown up in – a _year_ on, Ruby's dad had contacted them in South Africa. Did she want to finish out high-school in the US to get credits for college-applications?

She couldn't care less about college – but when she'd discovered where her dad had moved to, after leaving New York City, where he'd fled after he and Mom had separated, Lucifer himself wouldn't have been able to keep Ruby away. She was within a _block_ of the McGowan family.

Her favourite family in the world: her adoptive-parents, if John and Regina had only been tipsy enough to sign the papers without question. Her favourite boys in the entire world. She'd stayed with the family two years ago, for an entire year so she could go to school; it had been one of the best times of her entire life, and weekly phone-calls, twice-weekly Skype sessions and a bombardment of emails couldn't fill the void created by leaving those seven irrepressible boys.

And she worried about Sean. He wasn't _chatty_ by any stretch of the imagination, and on the phone he was worse. But he at least made the effort to go to his room for privacy when they talked. About how he was coping. It had been the best time of her life – but one event had eclipsed that year, and changed Sean's life forever. She thought about them every day. She didn't tell him that, though; not on the phone. And he told her that he was doing better, he'd gotten a full-ride to Boston University, partially for his academics, and partially for him being such a brutally talented ice-hockey player. He was like a young Michael Jordan of ice-hockey – a goalie, she remembered, from watching a couple of his games.

_ Miracle_ had played on a loop back when she'd bunked with Finn, the artsy one just a fraction too young yet to be embarrassed the way Evan had been that Ruby was…well, a _girl_. With girl-parts.

_ Oh, if they could only see me now_, she thought, smirking; she'd finally filled out. Her mother's gorgeous chest _hadn't_ skipped her generation. Only fair; Ruby didn't have any ass whatsoever. So Mother Nature had compensated by giving Ruby a glorious rack.

Thinking of the McGowan boys helped cool some of the simmering rage that was making her skin crawl like fire-ants were all over it – and thinking about the ants made her shiver and swat at her bare arms…

The guest-room.

Not that she shouldn't have expected this. They'd been living here for a _year_, after all. But the _OneDirection_ posters in what had once been _her _bedroom were just…unnecessary. Pink, everywhere. And ribbons. There had been a corkboard full of mementos, printed Instagram pics, Polaroids, restaurant menus and amusement-park and theatre ticket-stubs, and ribbons: fifteen-year-old Amalie liked to win. Tennis, Cheerleading, field-hockey, the girl even had her own show-pony for _dressage_. Ruby had stood in the doorway as Georgia – she insisted Ruby call her this, giving her a warm smile that had seemed unnervingly sincere – gave her the guided tour.

Fifteen-year-old Phoebe had been given _Ruby's_ bedroom. The one with the beautiful, deep window-seat Ruby had always adored. She used to tuck a small rocking-chair in the corner, hiding the tiny little cupboard from sight, where she used to hide her Halloween candy. Back when it had been hers, this bedroom had been pale-lilac, with a mural of obscure Van Gogh-esque irises and peonies her mother had painted with nail-polish one evening when she'd been about eight. They'd measured her height by the door of the closet, which now was propped open and overflowing with uniformly pretty clothes she could imagine came from places like _Abercrombie_ and _Hollister_ – the places Regina had always been excited to browse the girls' section with Ruby, because she spent so much time buying polos, baseball jerseys and jeans for her brood of demonlings. Floaty, floral fabrics, pale beige knits, a few bright polo-dresses.

Things the elite Mean Girls would wear to school. Phoebe certainly fit the stereotype: Ruby hadn't been to an American high-school since she was a sophomore, but she could remember well enough what it had been like. Mostly she remembered the best bits, the parties, the McGowan boys, spending time with Regina, getting into sports, boys (making a sport of chasing after boys), art, encouraged by Sean to get into literature, music. Phoebe was a slim blonde of middling height, with tiny perky boobs, a tiny perky ass, perfect perky features and a blindingly white smile. She was turning sixteen at the end of the summer, and she and her mother were working diligently on planning the event.

Ruby's dad was buying her a car. A VW Mini. Red. Cream leather interior. Some fancy stereo system that would let her tune her iPod playlists through it. Built-in SatNav. It was all she could talk about. And the caterer for the party. A dessert table. French _macarons_.

Ruby had glanced at Georgia, beaming excitedly at the prospect of her daughter's Sweet 16, and hadn't been able to help thinking, _Oh dear_. This girl was spoiled.

There was apparently an elder brother floating around somewhere – he was going into his senior year – and when he'd finally turned up for dinner, dashing out after a quick shower, dumping his gym gear in the utility-room to be washed, he'd had that glazed, carefree smile of someone who smoked too much pot. He was taller, blonde like his mother and sisters, had excellent bone-structure, toned arms and a charming, easy-going smile. He'd given Ruby a once-over, his eyebrows flickering upward in surprise at the cut of her neckline, and given a wave before trailing out of the house. Something about meeting some guys at the airstrip.

Ruby knew what that meant. A lot of kids in this town liked to drive to the nearby air-strip, watching the planes take off – and drink. Hook up in the woods. Yell and scream with each astronomically loud engine passing overhead.

She'd been awake for…way too long. She was used to travelling; unlike her mother, she could still just brush it off. But South Africa to Boston? That was a _long_ trip.

When Phoebe and Collis had worked together to clean the dishes from dinner – Caesar salad, a simple light pasta of smoked salmon, double-cream and dill, followed by a deliciously zesty lemon mousse, with a tiny bit of dark-chocolate – Georgia had come upstairs to turn down Ruby's sheets.

In the guest-room.

She stripped out of everything but her panties, relieved to be out of her bra after so long, left her clothes on the floor, tucked herself under the sheets and fell into a deep, almost comatose sleep.

* * *

**A.N.**: I've just downloaded a new story to my Kindle – they finally have Megan Meade's Guide on Kindle! – called _My Life with the Walter Boys_, by Ali Novak. Haven't started it yet, but the main character moves in with a family of twelve boys. Well, eleven, and Parker, "who counts as a boy". We'll see.


End file.
